


Rising The Surface

by sweetasstiel (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Kidnapping, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sweetasstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the reader's traumatic experience with being possessed by a demon, she meets two hunters - Sam and Dean Winchester. She eventually opens up to them, and tells them her story. Tension builds as the three eventually encounter an unwanted guest, and the relationships between the reader and the two hunter's build into something more than friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising The Surface

**Author's Note:**

> ( this is probably crap oops - the first chapter is just a brief intro to the fanfic itself, but there will be fluff and lots of angst! anyways -this is my first ever spn fanfic, so i hope that this is okay, and that y'all enjoy it!! )

“I remember _exactly_ what happened,” you begin, your voice hoarse and your body trembling with anxiety and fear.

The two men seated in same booth across from you seemed to be _pretty_ intimidating, and they seemed to make you more nervous and cautious than your usual demeanor. You let out a dry cough, and you adjust the button of your shirt as your nerves get the best of you. The way they looked at you, the way they created some type of toxic environment as they just sit there - waiting for your full response, their expressions neutral. It was always hard to be open, or to speak about what had happened – but you knew that it was time to speak up.

“They had caught me last April, and they tortured me for seven _whole_ weeks. They wanted me to _beco_ -” you stop yourself from continuing, the words that were on the tip of your tongue struggling to be spoken. Then, all at once, it slowly dissolves into a single, isolated thought.

That’s when the flashbacks began; the torturing, the killing, the cries, the floor that had been stained with blood from countless victims. The chilling screams and shouts that echoed from room to room; the nights where you couldn't bear to hear the voices that lurked in your head. There were days where the would hit you, and taunt you with treacherous and ghastly words. The people who had kept you hostage would tell you to do things that you didn't want to do; things that you wouldn't _ever_ do. Your sanity was too pure to do such things that they had requested continuously.

They would request for you to murder innocent people - people like you; people who were fighting to get out of that place that you could only describe as your own interpretation of **_hell_**. To your own defeat, no matter how many times you would reject their ongoing requests - they would kill them _anyways_. Your face contorts with pain as the memories flash before your eyes; the room that you were locked in for hours, days and _even_ months - the only place that was your safe haven; a place where you could have some peace and privacy. You shut your eyes closed for a moment, your mind repeating the same thing over and over again, when the thoughts become overwhelming: _everything is okay_. _You’re okay, you’re safe now._

You eventually open your eyes, and the two men looking down at you, their eyes full of what seemed to be pity and melancholy; but you _couldn’t_ tell. The brothers, after some time, look at each other, indicating they had no idea how to react. The youngest brother shoots a bewildered look to his eldest sibling, and he shrugs nonchalantly in response, showing that even he had no idea how to proceed the conversation that slowly seemed to fade away into nothing but silence. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. You can tell us what happened.” The youngest brother manages to articulate, a small smile curving at the side of his mouth, as if he was showing some sign of what seemed like pity and sympathy. The youngest brother, _Sam_ , looked at his brother, and then averted his accepting, calm gaze back towards you. You could tell that Dean wasn't as profound as his younger sibling, and he seemed to act differently in situations, and would act differently - and even more foolishly than his younger sibling.

Dean wasn't like every guy you had ever met; he was different. He wasn't much of a talker, his personality appeared to be fairly cold and unfeeling, as if he wore a mask to hide his true emotions. He seemed to step back into the shadows, and he would step back into reality when it was _necessary_. His posture was mismatched with Sam; he appeared to be more relaxed and laid-back. His sharp facial features also had a few dissimilarities from his sibling; like his emerald-like eyes, full lips, his round face and his killer smile. Dean seemed like a good guy - you _couldn't_ deny that. Dean was a guy who had practically raised his brother on his own, with barely any attention from his father, who had worked on cases on his own, for hours, and even days on end.

You could respect that Dean was so quiet and distant - especially when he didn't have a father figure when he raised Sam on his own. You couldn't blame him, because he had to be the person who looked out for Sam; the person who had to make sure he was safe at the end of the day.

The brothers didn't tell you much about themselves, and they didn't tell you much about their past; only the main facts that were the only actual things you needed to be informed about. However - they told you enough for you to trust them, and enough for you to allow you to open up to them; despite how panic-stricken and how anxious you _actually_ were. Talking about your situation really hit home, and no matter how much you talk about it - it won't reverse what had happened. You couldn't possible reverse what those people did to _you, and_ what _you_ did to those innocent people; without no sense of remorse or rue for your unforgivable and unforgettable actions.

You give the brothers a quick nod, trying to show them that you were willing to go out of your boundary; that you would try to to talk. You take a deep breath once again, as you try to balance some type of composure:

“They wanted me to become one of _them_. They wanted me to become a demon. They wanted me to do these things, and I just  _couldn't_ do it. And then, one day, they had enough.” you whisper, the heinous words making goosebumps form on your skin. Before you bury your head in your hands, you look around the empty diner, hoping your words hadn't been too audible, to the point where anyone - but _only_ the two men could hear. 

“Then what happened?” the eldest brother cuts in, his well built body leaning towards the wooden table, his elbows meeting the hard wood of the table. You could see that he was quite interested in what you had to say; his demeanor and personality changing completely to what it had been a few minutes ago. You struggle to vocalize your words; your palms become sweaty, and your face trying to avert away from the two brother's attentive gaze. You could feel the tension building as seconds pass, and _yet_ \- not a word is spoken. All you wanted to do was to get out of the desolate, isolated diner - and run away. This was all too much.

_You can't do this. You couldn't do this._

“I-I can’t. I can’t talk about this- I _won’t_ talk about this.” You state, a hand hesitantly reaching for your handbag before you scoot your way out of the booth’s vermilion, leather seat, your palms sweaty with anxiousness, stress and a hint of embarrassment. Once you managed to stand on your feet again, you turn to the two brothers, their expression turning despondent and downcast. You manage to shoot them a weak frown, your eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Looking at them made the situation a lot harder for you, and you didn't want to just walk away - although your consciousness told you to run away, and to _not_ look back. You could feel wave of emotions come over you, to the point where speaking about such a dark time in your life made you feel vulnerable, weak and even depressed.

Deep, deep down, you knew that you disappointed _them_ – but some things are best unsaid. 

**Author's Note:**

> ( the second chapter is still a work in progress! -gia )


End file.
